Mutable Reality
by fermica
Summary: Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, takes part in a desperate bid to alter the past, present, and future of a timeline where the Dark Lord won, all during the First War.
1. Prescient

**Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter for clear reasons.**

In theory, it was to be carefully controlled. A stable insertion into the previous timestream, as it were. Well, maybe it was those damn butterflies in Brazil. That's all I could glean from what Hermione Granger had said, at any rate.

Don't get me wrong, she is - or was, or will be, but that's beside the point - a great girl, but, well, when it comes to mistakes like this...

Instead, I appear naked in a blazing streak of fire. It's not the type that burns, but it certainly tickles.

And I'm probably a kilometer above the ground, imagining what the Muggles are thinking right now, while more important problems like the English Channel approach at an alarming speed. Hitting that will not feel good; in fact, I'm going to die, unless I make a Portkey or something without a wand.

Wind rushes by, tickling my cheek as I approach the bottom...

 _I crash out the window, Moody gripping me to his body with one arm. The ground looms closer..._

I run my fingers through my hair, and I catch a loose blond strand and pull it out. Now for the hard part. I focus, bringing all of my magical ability to bear. The ground comes closer. I visualize. Focus. Intend. The ground comes closer.

" _Portus!_ " The dead hair cells glow blue and I whirl away in an explosion of color.

 _An object clenched in his hand glows blue, and we jerk away from our fall._

I appear on the floor of a forest, my head spinning. I'm drained, and really need to go to sleep... No! I drag myself from the ground, and long, gray hair falls onto my face. I reach up and feel dead skin cells peel away. I've aged.

Temporal discontinuity requires magic to sustain it, or something, so my life slowly whittles away whenever I do magic or even use energy, especially for something as major as a wandless portkey. On the plus side, it puts me closer to my magic - it's easier to access, since it's already constantly being drawn upon by whatever forces of time keep me anchored here. But that's not a trick I want to pull again.

There's a town nearby, and I quickly assault an unsuspecting stranger and take his clothes and money. I crop my hair with a discreet cutting curse. It's around sunrise, so few are out and about.

"Do you have a gun?" I ask, shrugging on the unfortunate man's jacket. Sorry, got a timeline to alter. Maybe he'll win the lottery or something. Brazilian butterflies, right?

"N-no."

"Not even a simple one, like a muzzle-loading pistol?"

"No, I don't - what are you even..."

Gun laws. Then again, the Resistance had acquired guns quite illegally - with Voldemort in rule and monitoring magic, sometimes it was better to limit wand use.

"Know anyone who does?"

"Y-Yes."

"Tell me where to get one," I order the naked civilian.

I am soon the brand new owner of a gun. It's not exactly suitable for fighting, except for a one-time, close-up surprise. A couple of modifications make it slightly better: I expand its capacity, making it essentially semi-automatic. If only I had a decent military-grade weapon... As it is, this is practically useless, but if I need to quickly assault a wizard I can use it for that.

And with more time, and more magic, I could do better, but I need to conserve all of my energy. And all of my time, too, which is pretty interchangeable with magic in my situation.

Now, all I need is to get a wand and avoid anyone who might interfere with anything else I need to do.

 _I sit in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express, watching the countryside pass by and wondering what Fourth Year will bring. Ex-Auror Mad-Eye Moody sits across from me - he's supposed to be a new teacher, but he elected to guard me on the way there. Because Death Eaters had assaulted the Quidditch World Cup and fired the Dark Mark, Dumbledore and the Ministry wanted assurance that I was safe._

 _Moody had scared off the rest of my companions with stories of gruesome violence, endlessly preaching "constant vigilance." He turns his head and looks at me, then rises. "Stand up," he orders._

 _I stand. "We forgot one important aspect of security, kid. What is it?"_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"At least you're honest. Better than your father, at any rate... Come over here."_

 _I walk to where he's indicated. Suddenly he grabs me, pulling us both toward the window. It smashes on impact as he lunges out and we fall off the edge of a bridge..._

 _The Portkey deposits us in an eerie graveyard. Tombstones circle all around, and he ties me up. "What's going on?"_

 _He grins. "You can't trust anyone, Longbottom. And tonight, the Dark Lord will rise again..."_

 **~~Mutable Reality~~**

The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron is as ratty as it ever was, or rather, as it ever will be. Would have been. Whatever.

I push open the door and enter as a gust of wind pushes it back and forces the door closed with a slam. Huddled groups of witches and wizards turn and glare.

Right. Magical Britain's in the middle of a civil war. I hurry past a younger Tom and open the entrance to Diagon Alley, hoping that none of the patrons will attempt to accost me. None do, which is lucky, because I have little time to alter the future.

Diagon Alley is nearly deserted, as it was during Fifth Year - nobody wants to risk their skins to get supplies. The usually crowded streets seem bare, and the narrow pathway no longer beckons to me as it did when I came as a pampered and impressionable child. Instead, the shadows twist and whisper of hopelessness, death, and despair in the burnt out shops along the road.

Despite the cold welcome home, I continue down the alley, watching out of the corner of my eye all the minor paths branching off from the main street. Passerby shrink away, buildings loom and seem to sway as I walk underneath. The quicker I can leave, the better.

Instead of leaving, though, I enter even further into the belly of this beastly magical city, heading into the dark Knockturn Alley. After making some turns off of the main thoroughfare, I walk around, waiting for prey. When another shady and quite large wizard walks by, I turn and follow. He immediately turns, but he isn't prepared for my assault. I hit him on the forehead with the blunt of my modified pistol, and then take his money. Did he really expect to get by in this war unattacked by simply looking intimidating? Then again, that's probably most residents of Knockturn. I quickly return to Diagon Alley. As it is, I only have a gun to protect me from anyone who might try the same trick.

I walk through the streets until I finally find Ollivander's shop. I hope I can grab my old wand, though it might not be as good a fit as I need. My wand had grown and evolved with me and the war - would it, a blank slate, be able to adjust to me? It is too late now to ask these questions. The risk was already measured, the die already cast.

I enter and the wandmaker looks up at me. He doesn't look much younger than he did before, but considering that he's almost as old as Dumbledore, that's not really saying all that much.

"I wish to acquire a wand."

He peers at me, curiously. "And for that, you'd need a license, or, failing that, an age less than twelve... The Ministry does not take kindly to those who abandon the law in this time of suffering."

He would be surprised that I passed the second condition on a time traveling technicality, but I couldn't go spouting out something like that wherever I go.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches precisely. That's all I need."

"Curious, indeed, that you ask for this wand... a great wand, no doubt, meant for a great destiny."

"Will you let me buy it, or...?" My hand strays to my jacket.

He laughed, "Oh no, my friend, such a crude weapon like your Muggle firearm cannot compare to the beauty and utility of a well-crafted wand."

I agree with the sentiment. Having lived in an era of restricted magic under Voldemort, the Resistance had become perhaps too well-acquainted with Muggle guns for protection. The Muggle government would overlook any such instances and deny governmental assistance to the Resistance when speaking with magical government. Needless to say, the Muggle and magical worlds had lived in a very delicate balance during those years, an unstable equilibrium that was near the tipping point.

"But neither I nor any government of man should have claim over magic, and if the wand accepts you, then I will gladly give it."

He walks to the back of the shop, and returns a little later with a familiar wand. He holds it out, and I reach and curl my fingers in a familiar grasp.

 _"It is indeed quite curious, Augusta... The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Longbottom, and you will produce great things, of that I have no doubt."_

 _"It's just a wand. Why's it so important? I wanna get the Nimbus Two Thousand."_

 _"Hush, Neville. Getting a wand is an important moment in every young wizard's life, and you should stop to appreciate this special connection."_

 _"Nothing's more important than Quidditch!"_

 _Ollivander chuckles. "Brooms are delicate things. They age, lose bristles, and snap. Their charms unravel at the worst of moments, and professional Quidditch players go through many in their career. But a wand, Mr. Longbottom - a wand will last you your whole life. It is your companion and friend. Precious little can break a wand, except powerful magic that may well kill the wizard as well. Treat it well, this wand. There may come a time when you rely on it to save your life."_

Nothing happens. The wand is cold.

"Strange, that you would know of this specific wand and not be able to wield it..."

"I need another wand, then," I declare, still trying to wrap my head around this unexpected development. My wand would not accept me. Perhaps it is the experience that we no longer share, or perhaps there is a different reason. With all I want to change, I will soon cease to be Neville Longbottom, the child - or man - of prophecy, and that title would be conferred to an as-of-yet unborn child in this timeline, born to ill-fated parents who thrice defy Lord Voldemort, referenced in the prophecy that ruined my entire life.

The aging wandmaker does not seem to care and brings out multiple wands for me to try, but none have that spark of compatibility. They all feel wrong, feel weak, feel unready.

"Cherry and unicorn hair, thirteen inches," announces Ollivander.

I gingerly pick it up from his hand, almost expecting flame to explode out its tip - just as a particularly stubborn dragon heartstring wand had, requiring the wandmaker to douse the shop with water.

Instead, it becomes warm in my hand. It's welcoming, almost. I can tell that it's not quite perfect, but I have wasted enough time here - too much time. I take a glance at my watch. It's almost noon.

"A no doubt just as fine wand as the one you came here for."

"How much is it?"

"Thirteen galleons. A little more expensive than usual, but these are uncertain times and you do not have a license..."

"I understand."

I pay him, and quickly exit. There is still much work to do.

I make my way through the winding alleyway, this time gripping my newly purchased wand. I cannot afford to be caught by surprise.

Finally, I see Gringotts Bank and more importantly, tucked away in a corner, a tiny apothecary.

I head straight for it and enter. The owner, a ratty-looking man, greets me with a stiff nod, and continues putting ingredients on haphazard shelves. I choose an unoccupied aisle and loiter around, idly picking up and examining different objects.

Potion-making was never a strength of mine, and although Professor Slughorn did his best to encourage me, I never really got into it. Powdered billywig stingers and diced flobberworms never could fully grasp my attention. Herbology, though - the shriek of Mandrakes, the stink of bubotubers, even the tight grip of the Devil's Snare, and no, not in the way you're thinking - is my passion. Not any more, though. Only before fire coursed through Hogwarts, before the delicate greens, yellows, and blues of the greenhouses became a coarse gray. There's too much work to do these days to idle around gardening plants, too much constant movement to allow proper cultivation of rare magical breeds.

I walk around and inspect other items too, making enough casual noise so as not to attract suspicion. My path coincides with that of the owner a couple times, and during each he looks up, wary, before returning to his work. I notice, though, that he moves up and down the same aisle, and seems to pick back up the same items every time I walk by.

After minutes of our delicate dance, I speak up. "A curious shop you have, but a curiouser appearance."

"Indeed?"

I lean in closer, whispering this time. "We have a choice, always, between what is right and what is easy, and I choose what is right."

If anything, my words elicit more tension. "You weren't to arrive for another three days!" he whispers, and then he pauses. "You are not the messenger!" He reaches for his wand.

"I am an in-between," I interject, before he jumps to the correct conclusion and kills me. "The original messenger cannot speak with you - it is too dangerous."

"What does he have to say, then, that is so important?"

"There was a new development," I say, in a low voice. "New plans made by the Dark Lord himself. The Vance family. Today, right after dusk. Many, many men - to 'do it right,' in their own words."

The man's face pales significantly. "Are you - are you sure? The Vances - no, they wouldn't dare! Such a respected family, such a wealthy family."

"Exactly. To win this war, they will resort to any means to send a message to the opposition." I turn and walk towards the door as the stunned man still tries to grasp the reality of my message. I exit and walk into Diagon Alley, leaving Benjy Fenwick's apothecary behind.

 _"Emmeline was a dear friend," says an old Benjy Fenwick, his face haggard with grief. "As were all those who died in the First War... and the Second. If you truly make it back, you must save her. Her family's wealth and influence would have been indispensable to the war effort."_

 _"And how exactly do I go about doing that?" I ask._

 _"There was a man who relayed information to me, back when I ran the apothecary on the corner - it was destroyed, but back then it still stood..."_

 _"And?" I prompt, breaking the man out of his nostalgic recollections._

 _"There is a simple sequence of words that you must say, and pretend that this knowledge from the future comes from the past. Give the information, that the Vances will be attacked. You must not be too early, for fear of upsetting the timeline too much. I think you should start your journey there."_

 _I copy down the phrases dictated to me. Just another thing to memorize along with the rest of the Resistance's plans and counterplans for the past. As well as my own._

 **~~Mutable Reality~~**

I appear in the outskirts of the quiet Muggle town with a crack of apparition. I'm not concerned with the village as much as with a small house nestled within a grassy plain some distance away. Despite its outward simplicity, it houses the Vances, a relatively well-off wizarding family. They all perished in the First War, but I'm here to make sure that their fate changes, among other things.

I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself, not strong enough to fool someone like Dumbledore, but hopefully he won't be paying too much attention to the edges of the battle, should he show up at all. I'm here only to make sure that what needs to happen happens. I can't risk getting injured or even worse, outed, for my primary objective has not yet been accomplished.

Soon enough, I reach the plot of land. There is a relatively large copse of trees off to the side, but other than that, there is little to no cover on the flat expanse of land. I make my way towards the trees, checking to see that none have noticed my approach. The Order will soon discreetly gather here; I will have to make sure they didn't notice that I, too, am here. Unfortunately, this rules out camping on the ground. I climb one of the trees, slowly transfiguring temporary supports and handholds as necessary. Finally reaching a large branch at the top, I straddle the branch.

The moment I get comfortable in my watchpost, I hear muted cracks of apparition as Order members begin to arrive. Though the Vances had most likely already evacuated, the Order of the Phoenix would let no chance to confront the elusive Death Eaters pass them by. They confer with each other in lowered voices, and disillusion themselves as well after checking carefully that no person is around. Or at least, that no person is around on the ground. No one ever looks up.

It appears that Dumbledore could not come. Hopefully the rest would be able to deal a blow to the Death Eaters, as well as Voldemort himself. I doubt they can truly hurt him, but they can at least bag his minions.

I look for two specific men: my father and James Potter. They both are important, in more ways than one; they will care for me and Harry Potter until their untimely deaths. Harry Potter, would end up arguably the strongest member of the Resistance, braver than I or any other person could ever be. He's dead, though, as we predicted - he knew the portal would rip him apart, but he had to try to accompany me anyway. Now he's just a fetus in Lily Potter's womb. And I am - well, I don't really want to think about whatever activities my parents may have engaged in. Neither of these two men are here, which is a problem for multiple reasons. They're both extremely talented duelers at this age - or so I always heard, anyways, in the comparisons between me and my father, Harry and his - and the Order will probably need all the support they can get right now.

There's nothing I can do about their absence however, since I likely won't be able to leave without attracting some sort of notice when apparating or jumping down from this tree.

Nothing happens for quite a while after they settle in to wait for the Death Eaters to arrive. The sun sets over the flat horizon, throwing red and orange and even green rays across the cloudless sky. As the sun finally dips below the land, I can almost hear the nervous breaths of anticipation from the Order members. Still no enemies approach.

Finally, though, as the last vestiges of light flee the evening sky, and when darkness truly falls, the Death Eaters apparate in. They need no subtle entrance or quiet gathering before attack - they appear, synchronized, alongside their snake-faced leader. Voldemort's body is not quite as warped as it was when he resurrected in my timeline, but rituals and magical abuse have made his form monstrous nonetheless.

The swarm of masked and cloaked figures rushes towards the tiny cottage, and they soon begin to break down the meager protections which guard the seemingly insignificant pinprick of light that is the Vance home. Voldemort leads the attack, continually assaulting the barrier with an array of powerful spells. Some of the men stay to the side and cast spells to restrict apparition. I draw my wand and gun, just in case I need to make a quick escape. Or if the Order appears to be losing. They don't actually have to win, since the Vances have, hopefully, already escaped, but nobody important can die on the Order side of things.

Underneath me, the Order slowly rises and then charges towards battle, their disillusionment wearing out as they attack the enemy. Spells of all colors light up the countryside, but it seems to be a stalemate. That, too, while Voldemort continues to assault the shields.

They soon crumble, and he stalks towards the home. An old couple exit out the front, shakily holding their wands out towards the evil wizard. Voldemort contemptuously flicks his wand twice, and with two bright green flashes the woman is dead. The man, enraged, tries to counterattack in vain. With another swipe, he falls next to his dead wife and they go up in flames, with the rest of the cottage. They, it seems, had elected to stay behind.

Voldemort apparently realizes that Emmeline Vance had evacuated successfully, despite her parents' deaths. Angrily, he turns to the raging battle and releases a flurry of spells. The ground quakes, the grass weaves into tangled vines, the sky seems to weigh down more heavily, and then - shit.

The trees around mine topple, and the one I sit in begins to lean as well. The Order apparently took Voldemort's obvious rage as a sign to exit the battle and be happy with the losses they managed to inflict in the Death Eater ranks. They back away from the trees, the Death Eaters following.

I hear a great snap, and my tree falls towards the ground. I lose hold of my gun.

" _Arresto Momentum!_ " I try to whisper out the spell, and I slow just enough to land roughly on the ground, the tree crashing right beside me. Hopefully he didn't notice -

He walks purposefully towards me, and I realize with a start that my disillusionment must have dropped when I slowed my fall. He points his wand, and the tree beside me quickly transforms into a giant snake. He's playing with me, and then he'll interrogate and kill me. This, of course, cannot happen. It hisses, menacing, but does not move to strike.

I point my wand at it and slowly back away. Then it jumps, and jabs at my arm. My wand goes flying. It strikes two more times in quick succession. It's playing with me, too. Bleeding profusely, I scramble on the ground for my wand, but my fingers meet empty air wherever I feel. The snake rears back, and then -

My fingers grasp cool metal, and I bring the modified pistol up and fire several rounds into the beast as it lunges towards me. Blood sprays all over my face as the momentum behind the snake continues to bring it forward. I step to the side and quickly grab my wand, which lies under the trunk of a collapsed tree.

The gun flies from my hands as I break out into a sprint. I feel the heat of fire behind me, but don't turn to look. Green light flies past as I duck and dodge, hoping my random movement will keep Voldemort from hitting me. Interrogation's off of the table, then. He thinks I'm a stray Order member and is going to kill me.

"You are ingenious, wizard, combining Muggle and magic like in this... device. You would do much better to join me."

 _Fire burns around the edges of the room, herding me towards the ugly face of Voldemort. I quaver before his horrific visage, a grotesque appendage on the back of Quirrell's head._

 _"Our fates are intertwined, it seems...," he whispers. "Why not join me and seize the life you were always promised, Neville Longbottom?"_

 _I summon my courage, but can only stammer out a pitiful response._

"No!"

Voldemort remains silent for a moment. "So be it."

The fire circles around me, now, monstrous shapes forming and spreading destruction throughout the once beautiful landscape. It cuts me off from running farther, and I hear Voldemort's triumphant laugh. But I've reached the edge of the Death Eaters' incantations and I apparate away, the scorching flames of Fiendfyre singing the hair off my face.

The Vance line will live on, but there are still more important tasks left to accomplish.


	2. Ruinous

**Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter. If doubting this truth, seek mental help or join a conspiracy group. Or become a philosopher. And make a stone?**

I am a mess. My jacket caught fire - regular fire, fortunately - and burned throughout apparition. I had to discard it. My hair is badly burnt, and I swear it looks more silver than gray at this point, as if I am growing Dumbledore's facial hair. After brushing off more dead cells, I feel my skin. It's slightly wrinkled. I was a healthy twenty year old man when I began my jump. Now I am probably in my mid-sixties.

I clean myself up quickly, and then look up at my next destination. Lestrange Manor.

It's hidden to most, but I know where it was, from experience in my old timeline. It was a burnt out war memorial, a relic of a time the Magical World thought was past. And only those who have seen it, or unearthed it for themselves, are allowed entrance. Only the worthy.

The Resistance had planned for me and Harry Potter to break in, but Harry didn't survive the jump. Of course, there was a contingency plan for me doing it without his assistance, but we hadn't counted on me falling from the sky and aging this much. I will need be frugal with magic.

But my age offers another solution, one viable due to, of all things, the Longbottom lineage tapestry. That old rag, which I had to memorize, managed to serve one purpose in my life. If only I had known that as a child; I never would have questioned Gran again.

I ascend the steep path to the manor, and soon find myself outside ominous wrought iron gates. I knock, and a grotesque head forms from the already discordant patterns. "Who are you?"

"I am Harfang Longbottom, husband of Callidora Black. I must speak to your master."

"Give me your blood."

I hesitate, before complying and cutting myself on the gate.

"You're a Longbottom, no doubt. You can enter, but make one misstep and you die."

"Understood." The gates swing open and I walk down a path dotted with statues of kneeling Muggles being executed and other horrors. I knock at the door, and an old man answers it. Another man trails behind him. Even better.

These two men are Avery Sr. and Lestrange Sr., two of Voldemort's original Inner Circle.

"Longbottom. We thought you dead."

"Not dead, just hiding."

Avery's hand strays downward. "Even from your wife, who mourns you to this day?"

"You know me well enough to not question my actions; why else would you have let me in? Old friend, my reasons for leaving matter not. I've come to deliver a message, and you would do best to heed it."

"A message from whom?"

I whip out my wand.

" _Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra._ " Lestrange falls to the floor, dead, but Avery jumps aside and a dark black curse impacts my side. Black boils grow feverishly on the left of my body; I can feel the curse work its toll.

I feel no regret for doing what I did. These were two of the men who enabled Voldemort to build such a large following, the rocks on which his church of discrimination and evil was built. Arrogance, ultimately, would be their undoing: they thought themselves untouchable, the elites of the elites, wizards above the rest. They didn't expect old Harfang Longbottom, some eighty years old, to do such a thing, did they? Lestrange met a well-deserved fate; I will do my best to ensure Avery receives the same.

Then a House-Elf pops in, and all of the statues of suffering Muggles animate. I hear the clank of metal on metal coming from further inside. The gates lock, undoubtedly trapping me inside the manor grounds.

Perhaps this would not be as simple as I thought.

 _Tom Riddle yells in rage behind me as I run away. Blocking me from his path is Albus Dumbledore, furiously dueling against the magical prodigy who would become the world's most feared Dark Lord._

 _Dumbledore parries and counterattacks with graceful ease, but Riddle is nothing if not ingenious. Painting frames, whose occupants flee up and down the Castle, become sharp metal spears which fly at me and the Headmaster in equal part. I, to my lasting shame, race away, towards a hallway unoccupied but for metal statues. A bathroom sits at the corner between this passageway and the next._

 _I'm almost down the hallway when Riddle begins to speak: "Attack Longbottom! Do the bidding of your master, Salazar Slytherin!"_

 _The statues jerk, hefting their heavy swords and axes._

 _Then a basilisk comes crashing up from the floor of the bathroom, its head thankfully pointed away from me._

" _Incendio!_ " The flame hits the grass underneath the elf and spreads to the grass around as well as the rags he wears. He quickly pops away, and I whirl around.

" _Diffindo!_ " The Cutting Curse nails the elf in the neck as he attempts to attack me from behind. Two statues assault me next, and I twirl my wand, manipulating the fire to even higher temperatures before enveloping them within a furnace of heat. They begin to crack as stress caused by impurities begin to rupture their stone bodies.

 _I turn the corner, now sprinting away from the magical statues and basilisk which pursue me._

 _"I, Headmaster of this castle, order you to stand down!" bellows Dumbledore._

 _The statues continue to follow me, right ahead of the massive snake; I can hear the rhythmic thump of their steel boots on the floor, just behind me._

 _"Your one mandate is to protect the students of this school! Obey your duty; fulfill your purpose!" His voice carries far, and then, miraculously, the marching stops. I turn the corner as the snake begins to speak wildly and desperately, calling out to its master._

 _It suddenly crashes to the floor. I turn. The basilisk lies dead, brained by a statue's magical axe. Tom Riddle and Dumbledore now turn the corner, and Riddle shoots a flurry of green past the old wizard._

 _I, again, turn and run. I need somewhere to hide, I need somewhere to hide, I need somewhere to hide..._

 _Magically, a door appears in a previously blank wall, across from a ridiculous tapestry of trolls in dresses._

I stumble as a curse from Avery impacts the ground beside me, throwing me into the flames. Fire ignites my hair and burns all over my body. It ruptures the boils which had spread all over my left side, cauterizing my wounds.

Agony.

Dull pain, as one of the statues breaks my legs.

Torment.

 _"No you don't, Longbottom!"_

 _I slam the door behind me, and stop to catch my breath. Will Voldemort manage to breach this haven? I turn, and see massive piles of junk upon junk littering the room._

 _I sit, waiting for Dumbledore to resolve the situation and let me out. But instead of the smiling or triumphant face of a wise old wizard, contorted, animalistic heads of flame burst through the wall._

" _FIENDFYRE!_ " I unleash the potent magical fire, fueling its rage with my suffering. Its ferocity consumes the air around me, simultaneously dousing the fire burning on my skin and snapping at my opponents.

I stumble away from the fire and gasp for air, barely maintaining control. As I reign in the cursed fire with my magic, skin begins to grow underneath angry red burns, and my hair grows back quickly. Almost too quickly.

As I rapidly age, my leg heals and the signs of magical injury go away. By now, the rest of the statues have fallen to the massive snakes, bears, wolves, and other animals which manifest themselves in the glowing flame and spread in all directions. When they reach the manor walls, I know that Avery will not survive, and that whatever other horrors I heard activate will never again see the light of day.

Finally, my control snaps as it begins to melt the outer gates. The inferno multiplies in size, greedily consuming all that it encounters.

 _I run from the flames, but it is not long before fire consumes the entirety of this hidden room. A piercing shriek emits from elsewhere in the room. Just before it reaches me, luckily, the sea of fire parts and rolls away. Before me stands a furious Albus Dumbledore, clutching a familiar black diary initialed T. M. Riddle._

 _"Lucius Malfoy has much to answer for," he says._

I drop a quick note on the only speck of untarnished ground left on the premises of Lestrange Manor.

 _Hey Tom, I'm waiting for you at the Shrieking Shack. Come alone, at midnight._

I now look like one of those nonagenarians on the Wizengamot, the ones much past their prime who only pretend to have influence over the rough politics of Magical Britain. The smart ones, really, are those who don't show up, content to throw money around to manipulate the rest.

My knees buckle slightly, but before I can collapse I casually apparate when the Fiendfyre consumes the inner sanctum of the manor, collapsing the ancient protections surrounding the home. An enraged Voldemort with Death Eaters behind him is the last thing I see as my body twists and contorts.

 **~~Mutable Reality~~**

I circle the air above the Forbidden Forest on a Cleansweep Three, waiting for midnight. The damn thing jerks at awkward moments, but I had expected no better for a 'bargain' item purchased in a shady part of Diagon Alley. Voldemort, obviously, would not expect me to actually be in the Shrieking Shack; he definitely knows that this is a diversion, perhaps to lead to more direct confrontation with more of his followers. But he can't appear to be weak in front of his people, so he will check it anyway. Since he isn't a complete fool, though, his men are felling and burning the trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest to make sure I'm not hiding in any of them.

I'm partially invisible for good measure; I can't maintain the entirety of the Disillusionment Charm for too long a duration, but in the dim light of the quarter moon this should suffice.

 _"Sirius Black. You betrayed my parents!" I recline on a bed, my leg mangled, pissed at the revelation that the dog which dragged me into this abandoned hovel is the mass murderer himself._

 _"No, Neville, I didn't, no, let me explain -"_

 _"Shut up, you piece of filth!" Harry enters the room, holding his wand aloft._

 _"Harry, I never killed your parents, you have to trust me."_

 _Harry laughs. "Me, trust you? You dragged Neville in here to finish him, you've camped out here for almost a year now trying to kill us, and now you - you have the audacity to claim that you're innocent?"_

 _"I had many chances to kill you and Neville, Harry, but I took none of them. I spent the year trying to get into contact with you, trying to let you know -"_

 _"Know what? That my godfather got himself locked in Azkaban for killing my mum and dad? I heard it from McGonagall herself - she said you killed them to weaken the Fidelius, to reveal the location of Neville's parents to Voldemort! Don't deny it!" His wand shook with every forceful exclamation._

 _"It was Peter Pettigrew, he framed me, Harry. I don't want to hurt you -"_

 _"Where's the proof, then?" I ask, trying to save my friend from certain death._

 _"I don't know, but you have to believe -"_

 _"I have the proof." Remus Lupin, our current Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, walks in, carrying a blank piece of parchment. "I've found Peter Pettigrew's name wandering the hallways on this map of Hogwarts on multiple occasions and wondered - and finally I've got my chance to ask you, Sirius, what really happened that night."_

 _"That? A map of Hogwarts?" I ask._

 _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," chorus the two men. They look at each other and then laugh._

 _Harry and I watch, entranced, as ink reveals delicate designs and numerous footprints on the previously blank parchment._

 _"Gentlemen, the Marauder's Map," states Sirius. "It shows the name and location of every person on the Hogwarts grounds."_

 _"And we're supposed to take your word for it that it tells the truth?" asks Harry._

 _"The map never lies. And here he is - Gryffindor dormitory," says Lupin. "On a bed... with your classmate, Ronald Weasley..."_

 _"With Ron? What's he doing there?"_

 _"Say," asks Sirius, "does this Ronald Weasley own a rat missing a toe?"_

Unfortunately, two Death Eaters on brooms shoot my plan to hell.

"He's not going to show up. I'm not sure why the Dark Lord is making us check the sky, of all places."

"Do not question the Dark Lord, Gibbon. The greatest wizard in the world does not reassign his forces on mere whims. You would do well to remember that."

I jerk my head, shocked. The second Death Eater, his face partially illuminated by the moon, is a young Severus Snape.

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," he incants, and my already weak charm fails.

 _I enter the dark room which houses temporary prisoners of the Resistance and stride up to the man in shackles._

 _"Severus - fucking - Snape." I punch him each time._

 _"Longbottom." He laughs. "I never expected a miserable dimwit like you to survive past day two of the Dark Lord's reign, much less three years. Then again, your moron of a father always -"_

 _"Shut up!" His breath comes out ragged as I beat him twice more._

 _"All I want to know is why. Why tell your master of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Why screw with everyone's life? Why kill my parents, why ravage the Order by relaying that news?" I was crying by this point, tears streaming down my face. "I want to hear it, from your mouth, before I beat you into a bloody pulp!"_

 _He coughs out blood, spitting it into my face. "I will not subject myself to your stupidity any longer, Longbottom. You cannot force me to say anything."_

 _"Even to his death, Dumbledore advocated for you, saying that despite your troubled past and your twelve-year stint in Azkaban, you were a good person at heart. He let you go, that early morning in the Hog's Head, when you heard the prophecy. He could've executed you right there that summer solstice, but he let you go!"_

 _"Dumbledore was always a fool, believing in redemption... and love."_

 _"He told me... that you loved Lily Potter. It took a great deal of effort to stop Harry from killing you on the battlefield, you know."_

 _His bloodied lips twist into a smirk. "Yet here you are, doing precisely the same thing, Longbottom."_

 _"If you won't tell him, tell me." Harry Potter had entered._

 _"Potter... just like your father. Self-entitled, arrogant, rude."_

 _"I need to know!" he says. "If you loved her so much, why let her die?"_

 _"You are sick men," he whispers, "bringing up the demons of my past. Perhaps there was a time when one could have said I... loved Lily Evans, but that time has long past me."_

 _Harry and I hold our breaths._

 _"Azkaban ripped it all away from me, has punished me for my crimes... against her. Horrible, terrible crimes."_

 _I ask the key question. "Had you never heard the prophecy back then, had you known she was in danger, what path would you have chosen?"_

 _"The right one."_

 _"For her?" I ask, as Harry watches on, trying and failing to suppress all emotion._

 _"For her."_

 _"Avada Kedavra," I whisper, and the wretched man falls limp against the wall._

Snape sees me, and his eyes widen. "Over there!" he yells. "In the sky!"

Now probably every Death Eater here knows where I am. I'm not quite ready to lure Voldemort where I need to, but it'll have to do. Once I get rid of Snape and his friend.

" _Sectumsempra!_ " he shouts.

I angle my broom in the general direction of Hogsmeade and shoot off, or at least fly as fast as is reasonable on such an old broom, even if I did modify it a little. I had to rob a couple of wizards to even afford this twig, and I didn't have any time to rob any more. It would have to do.

Luckily, everyone in the Resistance knew how to enhance a broom. In theory. In practice, Harry had enchanted them, and we used them ever since. When the magical net went up we knew we were lucky that we had already created such items; such major magic would have set off a flare on Voldemort's network and we would have been captured and killed.

Hence, my Cleansweep has accelerational difficulties. Snape and co. have higher quality brooms, from Nimbus by the looks of them, and I am no Harry Potter in the sky. More brooms begin rising into the air.

Lights flash around me as I try to duck and dodge the curses hurled from behind me. Then I meet the main pack of Death Eaters. Inspiration strikes.

"He's over there!" I shout, casting a bright spell in a random direction with a clump of Death Eaters. They immediately turn and raise their wands at each other, and the biggest pack goes in that direction as well.

" _Bombarda_!" The explosion sends my broom careening and the other Death Eaters plummeting from the sky. The fortunate ones keep a tight grip on their out-of-control brooms. Unfortunately, Snape does not fall for my ruse.

The tail of my broom lights on fire as a nasty-looking spell impacts the twigs, and my broom begins to drop.

" _Aguamenti!_ " The broom slows its descent, but I'm still losing altitude. Then comes a shout from Voldemort himself.

"Let me handle him, you fools! I want him alive!"

Snape pulls up from the pursuit. A flying Voldemort shrouded in black mist takes his place.

A flying Voldemort. Shrouded in black mist. Holy Merlin, father of all things magical.

He took the bait, at least - albeit in a most unorthodox way. I can see the lights of Hogsmeade just a little further, and beyond that a small cottage - current home of James Potter and the pregnant Lily Potter.

Wind rushes by me as I push the broom to the extent of its limits. The village of Hogsmeade grows faster and faster as my broom begins to falter, its entire body fracturing and the wood bursting into flame. I can feel Voldemort right beside me, and I look to the side, he pulls out his wand, and -

I stall purposefully. He shoots right past me, then, realizing his mistake, curves back around in a wide arc, raising his wand once more -

" _Bombarda!_ " I shout, aiming right for where my leg meets my broom, and put as much power behind it as I possibly can. Hair grows, skin peels, and I eject from my seat as the antiquated broom splinters into a million pieces.

My trajectory is perfect, as if some divine force is aiding me, and I fall straight towards the residence of Lily and James Potter. I impact the house's protections, and they cushion my fall, even as magic explodes all around me. My own magic combats the powerful defenses erected by Dumbledore himself, and I weaken. My hair is white, now, and flows well past my face, obscuring my vision in a rough tangle. And then I hit the ground.


	3. Mutable

**Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter. Obviously.**

 _"Professor Dumbledore? You called for me?"_

 _"Neville, yes." The old man removes his spectacles and begins to rub his eyes. "I regret that I never mustered the courage to broach this difficult subject before, but with recent events I find myself debating the decisions which have guided me in the past. What happened to those Ministry workers was not any fault of yours or of your inactivity, as Voldemort may claim, but rather lies squarely on the shoulders of my ill-thought actions. Indeed, I thought that with the relative quiet of the year, Voldemort was planning some battle, gathering his allies from all corners of the globe, when the reality was much different. I hope you can forgive this old man his foolish errors, and help him correct the wrongs he has perpetuated in the past."_

 _"Professor?"_

 _"You have faced Lord Voldemort four times, now, yet I saw not the need to trust you, to share the secrets of your destiny. For in your place I saw a young, carefree, and perhaps a bit pampered child - a simplistic person, rather than the complicated man you were growing into. You had faced Lord Voldemort in your first year, true, but I delayed this conversation, reasoning that he was not as great a threat when shackled to Quirinus Quirrell, that you could afford a few more years' peace. And when young Tom Riddle came into Hogwarts, bringing death and destruction in his wake, I pridefully attributed the brunt of the responsibility of his defeat to myself - how could a child have vanquished such a terrible foe? Yet again I questioned your capability of mind and spirit, once again I cheapened your bravery. For you had chosen to face Tom Riddle when he came knocking in the Gryffindor Common Room, subduing prefects and dear Minerva alike. You could have cowered in your room, submitting to defeat, but you chose to stand up against evil, to sacrifice yourself despite the cost, in order to save the lives of your classmates. What greater child than you could do such a thing!_

 _"And in your third year, you trusted your heart against all reason, you gave a poor, wretched man the clemency he deserved, and helped uncover the truth, providing a new home for your young friend Harry Potter in the process, despite the unwillingness of the current administration to recognize the Sirius' innocence. I was overjoyed - but it was Remus who did the true work, I rationalized, Remus who facilitated that discovery, Remus Lupin who deserved the credit. And after Lord Voldemort kidnapped you from the center of safety, after he resurrected using vile magics and took your blood, I decided that it was my effort, not yours, which drove him away. You who had bravely stood up to him once more, you who had dueled the most feared Dark Lord in a century to a standstill by sheer strength of will. I demeaned your efforts, your accomplishments, and in doing so did you a great disservice, all due to my hasty judgment of your external character._

 _"Tom Riddle has constantly sought you out as a target, as an equal, and I have failed to recognize that. Today, Neville, I will tell you the truth. The truth is both a terrible and beautiful thing, I have told you, and I ask that you, as I, treat it with the caution it deserves._

 _"There was a prophecy delivered, only two months before you were born, one delivered by our very own Professor Trelawney."_

 _"Trelawney? She's a -"_

 _"A fraud, and one so marvelous that she knows not of her own veracity. Indeed, such is the curse of the true seer - to know, but not to know, to see, but not to remember, to understand the mystical underpinnings of time, yet lack the capacity to adequately express them." Dumbledore walks over to the Pensieve and waves his wand. A figure rises from the bowl._

 _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..._

 _born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

 _and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

 _and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

 _the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

 _"Do you mean - I've got to fight him?"_

 _A single tear fled the wise wizard's eye and rolled down his cheek. "Yes, Neville, I do."_

 _"And he knew, too? All this time?"_

 _"Lord Voldemort only heard the first portion of the prophecy, recounted by a servant. He sought out such a child, and in his arrogance thought not about the rest of the prophecy, of the fateful latter portion which modifies its meaning completely. But still, your fates are intertwined, for better or for worse."_

 _"He said the same thing, the first time we truly met."_

 _"Indeed. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort speaks in lies or even half-truths; he tells of the world how he sees it. But his one great failing, his one fatal mistake, is that he does not feel or recognize love. Love is what you had when you confronted Tom Riddle in your second year. When you spared Sirius Black, when you fought valiantly against Lord Voldemort amidst the throes of Priori Incantatem._

 _"I must add that you were not the only candidate for such a prophecy. Your friend Harry Potter was born as July reached its end, as well. But his parents never defied Lord Voldemort more than twice. It is a cruel twist of fate that they had to meet their end despite not harboring the child of prophecy - they gave their lives in service of two of their dearest friends, in spite of the probability that they might die for the information they possessed, that they might suffer for bearing the burden of the greatest secret the Order protected in those waning days of the war."_

 _"Who told him?" I ask suddenly. "Who overheard the Prophecy?"_

 _He sighed. "It was Severus Snape. Severus Snape, a brilliant but estranged child who turned to the Death Eaters after loss, betrayal, and hurt. If only fate had chosen a different path for him, the necessity of this conversation never may have arose. If only he had transcended a petty childish grudge, and cherished his love above hatred."_

 _"His love?"_

 _"It is not in my place to answer this question, Neville, for it will only lead to pain."_

 _"Who did he love? Why would it hurt? Who, my mother?"_

 _The Hogwarts Headmaster sighed again. "It was Lily Evans who he loved, Harry Potter's mother. But she held the Secret, she protected your family, and for that she died. Severus Snape went to Azkaban a bitter man, Neville, a bitter man who had lost everything he cared for, idealized, dreamed of. Remember this should your paths meet in the future, or should he and Harry cross ways."_

 _I look at the wall adorned with portraits of Headmasters past, and then back to him. "He should have loved her more? Despite her being married to a different man?"_

 _"Yes, Neville, if only to stave off the darkness which later consumed his heart."_

 **~~Mutable Reality~~**

Despite what the Resistance thought, I wasn't just going back to improve the odds for the future so that they might actually discover what keeps Voldemort immortal and hopefully defeat him. Harry might hate me for this, but I'm doing my best to ensure that my younger self gets to live a happy life, one unstained by a terrible prophecy. Or at least give him a chance at a normal life, really - if Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, then Snape might just be the better man. If he's the Boy-Who-Lived, then Harry Potter, the truly courageous man, would be in his rightful place. If he's the Boy-Who-lived, maybe he'll never have to live at the Dursleys, either. I'm rationalizing at this point, but why only change the past in subtle ways? I have already eradicated the future long ago; Emmeline Vance lives, Benjy Fenwick's fate is uncertain. Avery Sr. and Lestrange Sr. are dead, the horrific manor burned to dust. There is but one event to engineer, one final confrontation between the Potters and Voldemort to hopefully seal the fate of this reality, for better or for worse.

 **~~Mutable Reality~~**

Consciousness returns, and I stagger to my feet. Blasts and sounds ring through my ears, but my hair obscures my vision. " _Diffindo._ " As it shears off and falls to the floor, I turn my attention to my excess of skin. " _Aguamenti!_ " I clean off most of it successfully.

Death Eaters stand in a circle around the cottage, assaulting its shields. James and a heavily pregnant Lily Potter stand in front of me.

"Who are you, what are you doing here, and just why -"

"There's no time to explain," I interrupt, "but as you can see I'm on your side. Dumbledore's protections are about to fall, and play along with what I do."

"But how -"

"Do you want to survive, Mr. Potter? You can't apparate, you can't Portkey, you can't flee. Just listen to me."

The enchantments surrounding us fail, and Voldemort's lips curl into a triumphant smirk.

"Wait!" I call out, stepping forward. "I have something to say." If I botch this up, this whole timeline goes to hell.

"I have no time for games -"

"You're a coward. A weak coward." Death Eaters in my periphery mutter and shift around.

He grows dangerously quiet. "Weak?" he whispers. "You call me weak, you old, pathetic man? The mortal does not compare to the immortal, the dying to the healthy, the insignificant to the influential."

"But you aren't quite immortal, are you? You might be close, but it'll always elude you, Tom Riddle."

"I have transcended the name of a feeble man who means nothing to me. I am Lord Voldemort!" He raises his wand, ready to strike me down.

"An anagram of the very identity you claim to have shed, a sign of former weakness which you latch onto still." I raise my voice. "If you are so all-powerful, prove it to me, right now."

"You wish to duel me, old man?"

"No. Duel them." I jerk my thumb at Lily and James. "I'll kill your Death Eaters."

"What?!" asks James. "Who are you to -"

"What else would you do?" I ask. "Get slaughtered?"

"But this is even worse," he protests. "Once they overwhelm you, we die. It's better not to split forces in battle."

"Trust in me, then. I am the man who helped lead British forces to victory at the Battle of Nurmengard. I was the greatest hero of the Great War with Grindelwald, until along came Albus Dumbledore. I am the tactician who pushed back the Germans in our darkest hour as they assaulted Beauxbatons. I am Harfang Longbottom, Order of Merlin, First Class!"

Silence.

"No? Goddamn Dumbledore, always stealing the glory," I mutter.

"Didn't you marry Callidora Black before disappearing?" asks James.

"That doesn't stop me from being a good person, like your friend Sirius Black, does it? Anyways," I say, returning the focus to Voldemort, "do you accept my terms, or will you show your true colors?"

He laughs. "One against twenty? And two against me, the greatest Dark Lord to ever walk the face of the earth? Your experiences fighting Grindelwald mean nothing here. Your former political connections through your wife mean nothing here. Death is our only judge, from whom I am invulnerable."

"I'll manage. And those two have defied you twice."

"They put up no resistance," he snarls, "but fled like the vermin they are. But I will honor your... request, fool."

I push Lily and James forward, then look to the right, where eleven Death Eaters face me. I look to the left; there stand another nine.

"Why don't we start?" I ask, then promptly turn around and run inside the house as multiple spells occupy the space where I last stood.

"We - trusted - you, at least - help us!" James Potter shouts at me, exhorting me to return to the open field of battle where any of twenty spells could hit and incapacitate me. It's not like we actually have a chance against arguably the most powerful Dark Lord in history, who has some as-of-yet unknown form of immortality.

 _Professor Dumbledore lies before me on the ground in front of Longbottom Manor, clutching his left arm, up which a black curse slowly travels. It's at his shoulder, now, and about to reach his heart._

 _"Professor - what -"_

 _"Neville. Take... take my memories." He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a cracked vial. He offers it to me. "They contain... how Voldemort has remained... immortal for all this time."_

 _"Professor, it's broken. There's nothing in it." The last couple strands of silver drip to the ground and vanish. He stares at it, uncomprehending._

 _"Slughorn... dead... you must know..." His speech becomes incoherent as the curse reaches his heart._

 _"What must I know, Professor?"_

 _"Destroyed... ring... must find the Ho -"_

 _He drops to the ground, dead, and a cracked golden ring winks at me in the light of the sun._

All I really need to do is make sure Lily escapes and bears her child. And for that, I need to remove the enchantments which prevent people from leaving the Hogsmeade area. Voldemort was a little more than paranoid about me escaping yet again when setting up at Hogsmeade, and rightly so. I expected at least that much from him. Now, I could always kill the Death Eater who cast the magic in the first place - but there are twenty of them outside and I can't get them all.

"Apparate away the first moment you get," I shout back to James. My voice sounds old and used, almost weary. It's fitting, because my brief stint as a time-traveler is about to end. Indeed, the walls on all sides of the cozy home are already on fire, beastly heads of flame licking at and weakening them. It spreads to the floor, but I do not care; I will be able to resist the fire's effects with my magic for long enough. The left wall trembles as spells impact it; the Death Eaters plan to bury me inside.

"They have protections, what do you -"

"Just do it, alright?" I turn to get a view of their duel, and then plunge my wand into the ground. " _Motus terrum!_ "

The alternative to tracking down and killing the enchanter is to destroy whatever artifact he tied the spell to. Death Eater policy is to bury these under the ground so they aren't found during battle.

The earth slowly begins to shake and rhythmically increases in its oscillation. The land around Hogsmeade village rumbles as I pour my very life and existence into powering the seismic disturbance beneath. The floor of the house and even the rocks crack as internal stresses reach a limit, and I know that anything under the ground has no chance of retaining its magical potential. Yells sound in the distance as panicked villagers, the ones who didn't notice the battle in the sky or here in the outskirts of the town, begin to realize their predicament and evacuate their belongings. I hear several houses and shops collapse in the distance. Even the trees of the Forbidden Forest, visible in the distance, sway perceptibly.

But my focus remains on the destruction of everything around me: creaks turn to groans as the house teeters on the edge of collapse. Outside, amazingly, Voldemort, Lily, and James hold their ground and continue to exchange magical blows as the ground underneath them quakes and slides. My hands and arms slowly crumble from the outside in, turning formerly strong tissue into gray dust.

The magic in the air shifts and pauses, and then Lily and James apparate away. I stop my incantation, falling to my knees.

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him..._

Voldemort summons me out just as the house collapses around me and he roughly deposits me on the ground. "Who are you to disturb my plans, Harfang Longbottom? Who are you to wield such power? You were presumed dead, and now you live - tell me, so that you may earn a peaceful death!" He points his yew wand straight between my eyes.

What am I to say?

 _I'm actually Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived from the future-that-will-never-be. You will never see me again, never know of me, of my contribution to this world. Maybe I made little difference in the long run - I'm only gambling on probabilities, after all. I never was in a position to save the world from you, I suppose - only save myself, and even then, only perhaps._

 _I cannot hope to control fate beyond what I have made it, but I hope that the next timeline will rally behind Harry Potter, not me, for I am a tired and selfish old man who has done all in his capacity to protect his younger self from the perils of war. Let this world be a better one, I pray to Merlin and the gods of magic above. Let us triumph in this timeless struggle between good and evil. Let us triumph over you._

 _I am the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the prophesied savior. I have come to die._

"I am your doom, Tom Riddle."

"You lie."

I smile. "That remains to be seen."

He fingers his wand.

"You will not win any information from me through torture or Legilimency. I am about to pass from this world, one way or the other."

I feel my internal organs dissolve, feel the skin on my face flake, and see it spiral to the ground.

 _Either must die at the hand of the other..._

He raises it. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

 _For neither can live while the other survives..._

I crumble to dust.


End file.
